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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812034">Fatal Exception Error</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indee/pseuds/Indee'>Indee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human), Canon-Typical Violence, David Cage Can Fight Me In a Denny's Parking Lot, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Dual Protagonist Fic, Fight Club - Freeform, Fluff and Humor, If there is something I missed in the tags that you think should be tagged please let me know!, Let Markus Say Fuck 2020, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Canonical Android Anatomy, android junkyard, it's there I promise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:48:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812034</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indee/pseuds/Indee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It clicks, in one terrible moment of clarity. These objects are androids, their biocomponents exposed and glowing in the night. He can hear them now, gasping and moaning and crying, and he wonders how he ever failed to notice the sound. This place is not a junkyard. </p><p>It is a living, breathing grave. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor &amp; Josh &amp; Markus &amp; North &amp; Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Connor &amp; North (Detroit: Become Human), Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Echo | Blue-Haired Traci/Ripple | Blue-Haired Traci's Girlfriend, Hank Anderson &amp; Connor, Kara &amp; Luther &amp; Alice Williams (Detroit: Become Human), Kara/Luther (Detroit: Become Human), Markus &amp; Jericho Members (Detroit: Become Human)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Connor 0</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! I've been a longtime lurker in this fandom, but this is my first fic ever posted for D:BH! Some notes before we begin:</p><p>I am NOT looking for any in-depth concrit on this fic. At this time, I am simply writing for fun. I am open to hearing your thoughts, and if you see grammar issues, please do tell me about those! I write late at night a lot and sometimes my spelling totally goes down the drain, haha. If there are things you like, don't like, or would like to see more of, feel free to point them out. It really helps me write and improve my future chapters, plus I love interacting with readers. </p><p>I will be taking some... creative liberty, shall we say, with android biology and whatnot, since the game isn't always super clear on that sort of thing. So here's the headcanons that will be in this story:<br/>-Deviant androids can feel pain.<br/>-Androids can eat and drink but do not need to to survive.<br/>-Androids can sleep, it's sort of like a low-power mode for faster charging and software updates and the like.<br/>-Androids can dream, though I doubt it is about electric sheep.<br/>-Androids simulate breathing to avoid looking creepy and to help cool their bodies but can go without breathing if needed.<br/>I'll add to the list if anyone needs clarification!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>MODEL: RK800</b>
</p><p>
  <b>SERIAL NUMBER: #313 248 317 - 51</b>
</p><p>
  <b>BIOS 7.4 REVISION O483</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>REBOOT...</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Light. </p><p>Connor gasps, his chest burning at the sudden influx of air. His biocomponents whir to life. His Thirium pump throbs unevenly in his chest. Red warnings obscure his glitching, impaired vision. His audio processors are assaulted with the sound of thunder and heavy rainfall.</p><p>The sky above him weeps rain in steady sheets. There is mud under his body, slick and cold against his skin. He’s on the ground in a place he doesn’t recognize. A thousand questions blaze through his mind, <em> where when how why </em>merging with scattered, fragmented images of his last archived memories. </p><p><em> —  Amanda’s eyes are glacial and he is falling falling falling but he cannot move Amanda is leaving and he feels, he feels, he is not supposed to feel but he is </em>scared— </p><p>It takes several attempts for him to sit up fully, and when he does, objects slide off of him and Connor realizes he has been buried under... something. One of his optical units is damaged, so he must strain to see in the low light conditions of his surroundings. He stares at the objects that were piled atop him, which now sit on his lap and the ground around him, and then back out into the darkness. His first thought is some sort of junkyard, for much of what he sees gleams with the distinctive shine of metal even in the dark. However, he also detects flashes of blue and red, and the silhouettes of this junkyard do not appear to be still. In fact many are constantly moving... writhing, even. </p><p>It clicks, in one terrible moment of clarity. These objects are androids, their biocomponents exposed and glowing in the night. He can hear them now, gasping and moaning and crying, and he wonders how he ever failed to notice the sound. This place is not a junkyard. </p><p>It is a living, breathing grave. </p><p>Connor’s stiffness vanishes as he frantically scrambles back, kicking away the objects- the arms and the legs and the bodies the <em> pieces of the dead </em>— that are touching him. His stomach clenches and despite not having anything to expel, Connor turns to the side and retches into the mud. His body spasms as if it can heave up the dread and horror pooling in his gut. An awful pulling sensation grips his insides. He heaves until his abdomen aches with the force of it.</p><p>His eyes water as the dry heaving slows and eventually stops, but Connor finds he cannot stop the fluid leaking down his cheeks. He stumbles through several slow breaths, trying to calm himself, but the scent of Thirium and metal permeates the air so thickly he can almost taste the death on it. It is enough to make him want to throw up again, but he swallows painfully instead and pushes himself first to his knees and then to his feet. </p><p>The mud slides around beneath his ruined shoes, so he kicks them off. Connor forces his attention away from the carnage around him, instead focusing on the blaring red warnings hanging in his vision. </p><p>
  <b>BIOCOMPONENT #A754h DAMAGED</b>
</p><p>
  <b>BIOCOMPONENT #8456w DAMAGED</b>
</p><p>
  <b>BIOCOMPONENT #6937a DAMAGED </b>
</p><p>
  <b>WARNING: 02:00:34 UNTIL SHUTDOWN </b>
</p><p>Connor notes with a spike of panic the steadily decreasing counter. His Thiruim pump regulator is damaged; he can feel a lazy stream of Thiruim trickling down his abdomen. Wincing, he looks down to see what the damage is. </p><p>A long, thin piece of metal juts out of his body. The skin around it has deactivated in response to the damage and shines brilliant white, except for where droplets and smears of blue Thirium mar the surface. Connor gasps instinctively at the sight despite there being no sensation to accompany the injury. The finely-tuned sensors around the wound have deactivated in response to extreme damage, which he is immeasurably grateful for, but he knows that removing the metal and replacing the part will reactivate the sensors and, to be perfectly honest, hurt like hell. </p><p>The Thirium makes the metal slick and hard to grip. His left hand has been crushed and the outer two fingers are unable to bend, so he must use his right alone, which makes the whole experience that much harder. His fingers slip several times as he attempts to remove the shard, resulting only in further damage as it digs deeper into his plastic chassis and more blue liquid coating his hands and skin. Connor finally secures his fingers around the shard and gives it an experimental tug to determine the best way to remove it. Red error messages blot out his sight, but he dismisses them all with a grimace. Pulling it out is going to cause damage, he doesn’t need a sign flashing in his face to know that. </p><p>He tightens his grip on the slippery metal and pulls. </p><p>The jagged edges catch on his torn chassis and threaten to dislodge his hold again but Connor doubles down and pulls harder, unconsciously biting his lower lip. Finally, with a wet sort of scraping sound, the shrapnel comes free, slipping out of his regulator easily. </p><p>The sensors automatically reactivate as soon as self-repair begins, and pain radiates from the wound instantly. Connor yelps, doubling over slightly. Pain and its many descriptors are new to him, but his mind supplies <em> stinging </em>and it seems to be accurate. He inhales through clenched teeth and forces himself to look at it again. </p><p>Now unobstructed, the wound begins to gush thiruim in earnest. Connor feels a second rush of panic now as the percentage of remaining Thirium ticks downward. His self-repair functions begin to work on sealing the leaking Thirium lines, but the regulator is damaged beyond repair, cracked nearly in two. The ring of light around the cylinder’s edge pulses a dim, sluggish red. </p><p>
  <b>WARNING: 01:56:52 UNTIL SHUTDOWN </b>
</p><p>Connor tosses the piece of metal away from himself and wipes his Thirium-stained hands on his soaked dress pants, though the action does little to clean them as his clothes are already covered in mud.</p><p>He can’t stay here. He has to find a way out. Connor grits his teeth and starts moving, gasping intermittently as the wound on his chest burns in protest. The narrow passage he walks through is littered with the bodies and body parts of fellow androids, not all of which, he notes in horror, are entirely dead yet. They shudder and twitch and grasp blindly at the air. Occasionally their wayward fumbling brushes Connor, and their slow movements turn frantic as they try to latch onto him. </p><p>He struggles out of their grasp each time, even as his throat seems to be choked with guilt. <em> I can’t help them </em> , he repeats to himself, <em> there’s nothing left for me to do </em>. Regardless, Connor must fight down the urge to retch once more as androids with faces half melted and limbs hanging by frayed veins clutch at him. He avoids their searching eyes, fearing the accusation that would surely stare back at him.</p><p>Connor is nearing the end of the claustrophobic passage when an unusually strong hand latches onto his ankle and he stumbles the last few steps, trying to pull away. To his horror, however, the android the hand belongs to comes with him. She has no legs, her body neatly bisected at the waist with wires and the rest of her spine exposed and dragging in the mud. She latches a second hand onto Connor’s right leg, and that combined with his panicked attempt to break free unbalances him. He falls backward and catches himself on the ground, kicking out at the android with his free leg. She ducks out of the way and lets go of his leg, holding her hands out placatingly. </p><p>“Wait!” She says, her voice glitching and full of static. “Wait, please, I’m trying t-t-to help you.” Now that he can see her face better, Connor registers that she is a newer AP700 model. “I-I can see your regulator. It’s broken, and-and-and mine still works.” She reaches down to her solar plexus, where her regulator pump still shines a calm blue. “Take it,” she continues as Connor sits dumbly in silence.</p><p>Connor opens and closes his mouth several times, unable to speak. Finally, he stammers, “I-I can’t. You’ll die.” </p><p>Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. “I won’t exactly be needing it for much longer.” She removes the part before he can protest and holds it out. Her already faltering voice decomposes further as her thirium pump begins to fail. “T-t-take it. Please.” </p><p>Connor’s hand closes almost reverently around the proffered replacement. He pulls the AP700 onto his lap and takes one of her hands with his left, careful with his damaged fingers. Her olive skin is now fading, revealing the chassis beneath. His mind whirs with countless questions, but the one that tumbles out is: “What’s your name?”</p><p>Her expression turns sad, though she continues smiling. “They never ga-gave me one,” she says, barely whispering, “but I, I-I always liked Haley.” The LED on her right temple spins from red to yellow, and then a contented blue. “Did they name you before they threw you away?” </p><p>“Yes,” he replies. “My name is Connor.” </p><p>“Connor,” she repeats. Haley’s brown eyes are unfocused; her grip on Connor’s hand is weak. “Nice to meet you, Connor.” </p><p>“Nice to meet you too, Haley,” he replies. “Thank you for helping me.” </p><p>Haley nods jerkily. “G-good luck.” Her LED blinks out, barely visible now against her plastic chassis, and her face goes slack. Connor freezes for a moment. An unidentifiable weight settles in his chest. He lets go of Haley’s hand and slides her eyelids closed. The regulator in his other hand is heavy, a reminder of the price of Connor’s survival.</p><p>Connor is— was a prototype, but he was designed for dangerous field work and as such is compatible with many common domestic and public service androids, in case an emergency transplant was needed. Haley’s thirium pump regulator is nearly identical to his own. He presses gently on his damaged regulator and it releases from his body soundlessly. Immediately the warnings in his vision return, with the timer to his shutdown suddenly much, much lower. Connor hastily inserts Haley’s functional regulator into himself. He groans when it irritates the deep laceration around the port but otherwise ignores the pain as he twists the regulator ninety degrees to lock it in place. </p><p>There is a slight pause, where his system recalibrates to integrate the new part, but almost instantly the red error messages disappear and the countdown stops. A new message, now blue, flashes across his vision. </p><p>
  <b>CONDITION STABILIZED</b>
</p><p>Connor breathes a sigh of relief and gets to his feet once more. He returns to moving through the junkyard, shuffling between piles of... of <em> them </em>. He emerges into a wider area that seems to be the center of the junkyard. The androids here are more active, some still able to walk like himself, and others crawling or slumped on the ground. An AX400 model eerily sings a Japanese children’s song. The melancholic sound provides another layer of surreal horror to the junkyard. </p><p>
  <em> “Sakura, sakura, noyama mo sato mo...”  </em>
</p><p>A message about Connor’s damaged optical unit now hangs in his eyeline, vying for his attention with repeated instructions to return to a Cyberlife store for repairs. He scans the surrounding area for nearby compatible androids, but his diagnostic functions are hindered by the damage and the scan comes up inconclusive. It does, however, reveal the sheer size of the place he is trapped in.</p><p>
  <em> “Mi-watasu kagiri, kasumi ka kumo ka, asahi ni niou...”  </em>
</p><p>Connor staggers to the center, turning in a slow circle to take in the expansive field of desolation that is the junkyard. The horror that has followed him since he woke up threatens to overtake him now. It feels impossible to move on from this place. The sense of utter despair is like a physical weight on his shoulders, dragging him down. </p><p>There’s just... there’s so <em> many </em>. So many of his kind dead, or dying, or just alive enough to wish they were the former. Connor is one of them now, a ghost haunting a mass grave for people who weren’t even allowed to live. </p><p>He can’t do this. How could anybody do this, find the strength to drag themself out of Hell itself? </p><p>
  <em> “Sakura, sakura, hana zakari...”  </em>
</p><p>Connor’s knees give out and he hits the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. His blood boils, white hot and full of a thousand emotions he doesn’t understand. He hunches over, hands buried in his hair, and screams. The sound is made of rage and of fear and of deep, deep sadness. His throat burns with the force of it, until his voice finally must falter and peter out. There, Connor stays, silent and hunched over, surrounded by a breathing grave. His thirium pump throbs almost painfully in his chest, so much so that he isn’t certain now that Haley’s regulator is compatible after all—</p><p>
  <em> Haley.  </em>
</p><p>The image of her rises unbidden in his mind. Haley, who sought him out in her dying moments. Haley, who never had a name but always secretly wanted one. </p><p>Haley, who gave her life for him. </p><p>Connor can’t help the androids here. He can’t save them from this place, not like he is now. But he can keep moving. He can get up and find a way out and maybe someday he can come back for them. He touches the regulator in his chest and thinks of the android who gave it up for him. He doesn’t think she would want <em> him </em> to give his life up so easily. </p><p>A voice still chants in the back of his mind, panicked and grieving and exhausted, <em> I can’t I can’t I can’t </em> . Connor forces it to be quiet, because it doesn’t matter if he <em> can’t </em>. </p><p>He <em> must </em>. </p><p>
  <em> “Sakura, sakura, yayoi no sora wa...”  </em>
</p><p>The blanket of despair over Connor’s shoulders falls away. There is still a heavy weight in his chest, still chains of horror and pain wrapped around him, but he won’t allow them to drag him down any longer. He has to keep going, for himself and for Haley and for every android discarded here. He rises to his feet once more, resolute in his new mission.</p><p>A blue message pops up in the corner of his vision: <b>MISSION: ESCAPE THE JUNKYARD</b>. Under it, a list of objectives appears, in order of necessity. </p><p>
  <b>FIND REPLACEMENT PARTS</b>
</p><p>
  <b>DETERMINE EXIT STRATEGY</b>
</p><p>
  <em> “Mi-watasu kagiri, nioi zo izuru...”  </em>
</p><p>Connor sets about searching for replacements. He avoids the living ones; he doesn’t have it in him to steal from androids who have already lost everything. Instead, he shuffles through the husks of those who are clearly dead, scanning compatible models for the parts he needs. An AF200 has a compatible optical unit, thankfully a similar chocolate brown color to his own. Connor removes it, whispering a soft thanks to the AF200 despite her being far too long dead to hear him.</p><p>He searches for something to use as a mirror and eventually finds a puddle clear enough to reflect a blurry face back at him. Seeing himself for the first time, Connor gapes at how different he looks now. His left optical unit is almost entirely caved in, wires exposed and sparking fitfully. The rest of his face is not much better; his skin is streaked with mud and Thirium, the true color only peeking through when rain washes a thin sliver of grime away. His hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead. Connor winces at the sight. At Cyberlife, he always made an effort to maintain his appearance. Looking perfect on the outside helped hide how imperfect he was on the inside. </p><p>Now, he looks like the broken machine he really is.</p><p>Connor shakes himself. This isn’t the time, he needs to be working on his mission. He uses his good hand to gently pry the damaged unit out, wary of the sharp edges of his cracked plastic chassis. As soon as the part leaves, pain explodes from the socket. Its proximity to his processor seems to worsen the effect and Connor bites back a yell. His mind unhelpfully assigns the description <em> stabbing </em>to the sensation. Connor flings the old optical unit away, sending it skittering into the darkness somewhere. Squinting once more at his reflection, now much blurrier with only one eye, he orients the AF200’s eye correctly and presses it into the socket. A second, less intense spike of pain comes, but it fades quickly. Connor blinks several times as the eye calibrates and scrubs it free of a few specks of dirt. </p><p>Connor scans the junkyard again and feels a burst of satisfaction when the results return as expected. He finds a deactivated PL600 whose left hand is compatible with his own. He switches out the damaged hand for the new one, murmuring a soft apology to the PL600 as well. The objective to find replacement parts turns blue and disappears, now leaving only the task to find a way to leave the junkyard. He looks toward a slope on the far side of the Junkyard, about 50 feet from his current position. It is steep and— his throat closes up at the sight— covered in androids, some motionless and others still struggling. </p><p>
  <em> “Izaya, izaya, mini yukan…” </em>
</p><p>He reaches up and grabs onto a handhold, keeping his eyes locked onto the night sky to pretend he doesn't know what he is crawling over. The slope is slick with rain (he hopes beyond hope that it is just rain) and his hands slip several times, but Connor manages to drag himself up the incline inch by inch. As he nears the top, he slips and falls back several feet, yelping at the sudden drop. He manages to catch himself and flings out a hand, straining to reach a piece of rebar jutting up from beneath the debris. With a grunt, he finally manages to grasp it. Connor grits his teeth and heaves himself up, collapsing into the flat ground above the slope. He’s made it.</p><p>He’s <em> made it.  </em></p><p>His eyes burn with tears. Connor makes a choked noise between a laugh and a sob, his hands quivering as the horror and pain of it all crashes in on him. He staggers to his feet as he turns around to view the grisly, hellish landscape he has just escaped. The androids below him still wander and struggle and die, and he is hit with another wave of yearning to do <em> something.  </em></p><p>"I'll come back," he says into the cool night air, still smelling the metal and Thirium. "I promise. I'll come back for all of you." His mission to escape registers as complete; another soon takes its place. <b>FIND SOMEWHERE SAFE. </b>Connor stares off into distance, where he can see the lights of downtown Detroit.</p><p>He starts walking and doesn't turn back. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! Please drop a kudos and feel free to comment about what you like so far!. I try to respond as often as I can.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Markus 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>North cracks a smile that shows off her canine teeth. “Not in the slightest,” she says, somewhere between amused and bitter. “It’ll be easy. All we have to do is find the ones who are interested and get back to Jericho without being caught.”<br/>“Yeah,” mutters Simon. “Easy.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wOW this chapter took forever! who has two thumbs and decided to start a fic right as school started up again? thats right, its this idiot!<br/>all jokes aside, sincerely sorry this took so long! In actuality I wrote an entire other markus chapter, then promptly realized my timeline was wrong and had to write a whole new one... oops. I hope I did the character dynamics between the Jericrew justice, I even replayed the game recently to get a feel for them (tho tbh most of their vibes are headcanon bc personalities and interactions in narrative games can be so varied akjskakhjd). There's also got some stuff from DBH concept art in there which I'm v excited about. It's somewhat shorter than chapter 1 despite my best attempts to keep them equal in length but the next Markus chapter I have outlined is fairly long so we will see more of him!</p><p>some content warnings in case anyone would like them: illegal underground fighting rings, a brief panic attack (starts at "Something catches the light", ends at "he notices the window cracked slightly", if anyone needs to skip!).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>NOV 8, 2038</b>
</p><p>
  <b>8:39:52 AM</b>
</p><p>“I have an idea,” North says.</p><p>Without looking up from his book, Josh says, “No.”</p><p>North glowers at him from across the room that has been turned into their office of sorts. Anyone else on the receiving end of that glare would drop dead, but Josh seems to have built up a natural immunity to it, simply continuing to flip pages. “You don’t even know what it is,” she bites back. </p><p>Markus jumps in as he sees Josh open his mouth, not eager for them to start another of their arguments. “North has a point, Josh. We should hear her out before we turn her idea down.”</p><p>The two seem mollified for now, North shooting a grateful glance his way. “We need more people,” she says once everyone’s attention. “Some… friends of mine have told me about places our people are gathering. Waiting for androids to find us is taking too long, and getting to Jericho is dangerous. We need to go to them, not the other way around.”</p><p>“It’s dangerous for us to be out, too,” says Simon. “If we’re going to recruit, we need to be careful.”</p><p>Markus interlaces his fingers, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “Simon’s right; it’s a good idea but the humans are on guard for androids going missing now. We need to be certain those we recruit won’t be missed, at least not at first.”</p><p>“So no household androids,” Josh says, “or other visible jobs like receptionists.”</p><p>North’s shoulder tense and her hands make fists in her jeans, but she keeps quiet, eyes glued to the floor. Markus frowns; if there is something wrong with their plan, they need to know. “North?” She twitches minutely at his voice. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No,” says North, much too quickly. Markus fights the urge to place a hand on her arm, knowing she rarely responds well to unwelcome contact. “You’re right, we can’t save anyone who would be noticed too soon. You’re right.” Her voice is terse and cold, but underneath that, Markus thinks she almost sounds sad. </p><p>“Some of your friends, their absence would be noticed?” Josh says. Markus appreciates the effort he makes to avoid sounding interrogatory or prying. Regardless, her posture only closes further. </p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” she grinds out. “We can’t help them yet so it <em> doesn’t matter</em>. Alright?” </p><p>Markus nods. “Alright. I’ll admit this is one area where you all have me beat,” he continues, “I've spent most of my time as a deviant holed up inside Jericho, so I don’t know where to begin to look for our people.”</p><p>“CyberLife stores?” Simon starts. “There’s always a lot of androids there, on the store floor and in storage.”</p><p>“There’s no guarantee they’ll all be deviants, though,” says Josh. “What if one of them calls the police to report us? We can’t risk that.” </p><p>“We can’t abandon them to be sold off the humans either,” Simon says, uncharacteristically sharp. Josh looks a little askance at the intensity of the response. </p><p>“You’re both right,” says Markus, trying to keep the tension low. Infighting gets them nowhere. “It’s a risky move, too risky for this early on. When we’re more ready to announce ourselves to the world, CyberLife stores are a viable target.” Simon and Josh both accept the compromise. “Where else, then?”</p><p>North breaks her silence. “I know a place.” The room’s attention goes to her, and she stiffens a bit. “I-It’s a common place for deviants to go. Not the <em> best </em>place, but it’s safer than the streets and nobody there reports them.” </p><p>“Will they be missed?” Josh asks. </p><p>North cracks a smile that shows off her canine teeth. “Not in the slightest,” she says, somewhere between amused and bitter. “It’ll be easy. All we have to do is find the ones who are interested and get back to Jericho without being caught.”</p><p>“Yeah,” mutters Simon. “<em>Easy. </em>”</p>
<hr/><p>Cold wind tears at Markus’s’ clothing. At his side, North tucks her exposed hands into her pockets and bounces on her toes as they both wait for her contact to arrive. Bits of snow accumulate on their skin and clothes. Through the wall of the building he leans against, he can both hear and feel the steady, thumping bass of the music behind him, interspersed by yelling and laughter. </p><p>“What exactly is this place you’re taking me?” Markus asks, half because he’s curious and half because he just wants to break the silence. He’s never done well with silence. </p><p>North shrugs. Sometimes he has to admire her ability to be noncommittal. “It’s a… it’s how most of us on the streets earn money. Nobody <em>likes </em>it,” she says, “but it pays.”  </p><p>Markus opens his mouth because that doesn’t really explain anything and does not by any means quell his underlying suspicion about wherever they’re going, but at that moment, the door swings open. The muffled music and voices become sharp and clear. Off-white light pours from the entrance, momentarily obscuring the figure in the doorway with it’s brilliance. Markus blinks to adjust his eyes. </p><p>An ST300 android leans out of the doorway. She slips into the alley, one foot keeping the door cracked open. A hood covers her LED, though in the dark the blue glow is still visible on her temple. </p><p>“North,” she greets warmly, a smile lighting up her face. Her eyes flash to Markus’s face and then back to North. “Come in, we’re about to start.” </p><p>“Start what?” Markus asks as they step inside, but his words are lost as a wild, ecstatic cheer rises up from a crowd at the center of the large concrete building. He can barely see over the heads of the mass of people except for a structure of four poles holding up walls of netting between them in the center of the room. A voice crackles overhead from a PA system, loud enough even to be heard above the voices and still-playing music. </p><p>“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to the Colosseum!” A pause, filled with more clamorous cheering. “For tonight’s show, please join me in welcoming our first contestants; on my right, your reigning champion, Wraith—  and to the left, a newcomer with twelve victories to her name, Ursa!”    </p><p>Markus winces and sends a message to North. <em> Is it always this loud?  </em></p><p>One corner of her mouth quirks up in a smirk. <em> Wait till it really gets going. </em>The ST300 leads them further into the building. They worm their way through the crowd, Markus holding his breath as hundreds of bodies close in around him, hands brushing his arms and back and chest. Finally, they stumble into a pocket close to the center and Markus finally sees what the odd structure is. </p><p>A boxing ring, built on a raised platform with lights bearing down on it from above. </p><p>Two figures stand in opposite corners of the ring. One is a stocky woman wearing a fierce-looking contraption strapped onto the lower half of her face, something between a decorative mask and a muzzle. On the other side, a willowy figure stretches languidly, showing off the geometric lines of red paint on his arms and midriff. An LED spins blue on his temple. </p><p>Markus’s stomach drops to the concrete floor. <em> They’re androids, </em> he messages North. She nods imperceptibly. </p><p><em> They’re deviants, </em> she responds. <em> And they have no other options. That’s why we’re </em> here<em>.  </em></p><p><em> You’re right</em>. <em> But it’s… this is… do they both walk out of that ring? </em></p><p><em> Sometimes, </em> says North. <em> Sometimes not.  </em></p><p>A shrill noise fills the air for a moment and Markus’s attention is pulled back to the ring as Ursa immediately lunges for Wraith, who twists out of the way and quickly puts distance between them. Ursa bares her teeth behind the muzzle. The two begin circling one another like predators and trading blows every few moments without either landing any solid hits. </p><p>Jeering rises from the crowd, urging the two to accelerate the fight. A punch from Wraith catches Ursa across the jaw, the impact sending a hard <em> crack </em> sound echoing through the room. The artificial skin of Wraith’s knuckles retreats from the force of the hit and a few smears of blue blood dribble down his fingers. Wraith doesn’t pause, instead taking advantage of his opponents momentary daze to surge forward and aim a kick at her stomach. </p><p>One of Ursa’s hands snatches his ankle and she twists her hips to the side, tossing Wraith like a ragdoll against one of the mesh walls. Markus winces and digs his nails into the soft skin of his palms as he tries not to listen to the overjoyed screaming of the humans all around him. Their excitement and fervor clouds the air like smoke and fills his mouth with a sour taste. Next to him, North shifts from one foot to the other, eyes still trained on the fight in front of her. </p><p>Something catches the light: metal and Thirium, glimmering as they arc through the air and go skittering across the concrete floor. Markus feels his throat close, the edges of his vision warping and glitching. The socket where Wraith’s left hand used to be sparks and gushes dark cobalt blood—  <em> sparks flicker like fireflies in the darkness </em> — Ursa’s hands are stained and glistening—  <em> the ground is a watery slush of mud and Thirium, his skin is slick with it, stains that will never wash away </em> —  the crowd closes in on him from all sides, jostling and pulling and touching touching touching him <em> hands in a narrow corridor grasping at his arms his neck his face pulling him back down into the mud he cannot breathe </em>he cannot breathe—  </p><p>Markus hardly feels himself pushing out of the crowd; he feels like he is floating so many miles away from the ground, every light, sound, and sensation distant and muddled. He moves blindly until the air stops tasting like blood with every sharp inhale. As he slowly begins to register where he’s escaped to, he notices the window cracked slightly. </p><p>“Markus!” North’s voice grounds him further and after a few more slow, steady breaths he faces her. “What happened?”</p><p>Markus grimaces. “Just brought up some… bad memories. It’s nothing.” </p><p>Something flickers across North’s face, an expression Markus isn't sure how to decode. “Are you… Let’s come back when the fight is over, it shouldn’t be long.” She puts one hand on his bicep and turns toward the exit. </p><p>“No!” He digs his heels into the floor. North frowns, the corners of her eyes narrowing as she squints at him. “We—  I need to stay, I’m not—  we should stay. We need to see this through.”</p><p>“If you’re sure,” she replies slowly. “Come on. While it’s finishing, we can talk with some of the androids here.”</p><p>He follows her away from the crowd and toward a stairwell. They ascend to the second floor. The center of the floor is open space, allowing spectators to look down on the fights. Around the entire floor, identical doors line the walls. The inhabitants of this floor are only androids, and each wears some variation of a marked uniform and an LED on their temple. </p><p>“Here,” North says. She sets off toward a larger group. These androids stand out, being the only ones not bearing blue armbands and triangular symbols. Instead, they wear unique outfits, made up of decorative clothing and elaborate body paint.</p><p>“They’re fighters,” he murmurs to North as they approach. </p><p>“We need those,” North shoots back. </p><p>The group quiets their conversation when Markus and North draw near. Markus stays silent as their eyes fix on him, scrutinizing and assessing. North does the same, waiting for one of them to initiate.</p><p>“If you’re looking to hire,” a BL100 says, “you gotta talk to the managers.”</p><p>“We don’t want you to fight for us—  not in the way you’re thinking.” Markus looks to North, who nods, and they retract the artificial skin from their hands, white polymer reflecting the few overhead lights of the second floor. “Just here to extend an offer to anyone who… is looking for another option.”</p><p>The group falls silent for a few moments, likely communicating with one another through androids’ built-in messaging network. “We… might know a few people,” the BL100 says.</p><p>“Can you take us to them?”</p><p>“Not now.” She holds out a hand, her own skin gone as well to allow an interface. “There’s a meeting, in two weeks. Some of us have been talking about leaving.” Markus clasps her wrist and accepts the interface prompt. A room number is given to him, as well as a date and time. “If the offer still stands, come then and ask for Ruby.”</p><p>He pulls his hand back. “Thank you,” says Markus. “We’ll be there.”</p><p>Another announcement comes on over the PA system, which Markus notes is also built into the second floor. A different voice from before, deeper and gravelly, says the Colosseum is closing and spectators need to leave. </p><p>The fighters disperse with an air of being practiced in quickly disappearing. Markus and North go down the stairwell just as several humans go up. As they head for the door with the rest of the crowd, Markus casts a look over his shoulder at the now-emptied floor. Various bits of litter are scattered about, the usual remnants of a large crowd. Androids in janitorial uniforms mill about. </p><p>“How long has this place been here?” Markus asks North, hiding his question in the din of the crowd.</p><p>“A few months, at least. Deviants have been around longer than the humans think.” </p><p>“Some of them knew,” he says, casting a look back at the humans they passed on the stairs. They’re talking to the group of fighters Markus and North met now. A pop-up flashes in the corner of his vision, an incoming call from Simon. </p><p><em> Simon, </em> he answers as the neural link connects. <em> We’re just leaving the location, is everything alright? </em></p><p><em> Yes, I just wanted to check and see how things were going, </em> replies Simon. <em> Did you find anyone interested?  </em></p><p>
  <em> I think so, yes. We’re returning to talk to them in a few weeks.  </em>
</p><p><em> That’s excellent! </em> Markus smiles at the undertone of excitement in Simon’s voice. <em> We’ll have to start preparing for the strain on supplies, though.  </em></p><p><em> I’m sure between the four of us we’ll come up with something, </em> Markus says. <em> I’ll see you soon, we’re on the way back now.  </em></p><p><em> Be safe, Markus, </em>Simon says. </p><p><em> You too, </em>he replies, then ends the call. North raises an eyebrow at him, and Markus explains, “Simon called, wanted to check in.”</p><p>She nods, a smile pulling on her lips. “He’s such a mother hen,” she mutters. Markus laughs. </p><p>“One of us has to be,” he says, to which North snorts. “Do you think they’ll agree to come with us, the ones we talked to?”</p><p>She shrugs, casting a look back at the steadily retreating building behind them. The lights and noise are now gone, and it sits unassuming and dark in the night, blending in with the other abandoned, bare structures around it. </p><p>“I guess we’ll find out.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! The reception to this fic has been so much better than I expected and I hope it continues to entertain. As always, let me know if I should add any tags or warnings. Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed! I try to read and appreciate every one :) </p><p>the alternative title to this chapter is 'girls will tell you they "know a place" and then bring you to fight club'.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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